The Answer Is Rhythm
Jang Namhun nodded slightly at the question.
Something was there.
She had felt it from the very first time she saw him.
Namhun’s hidden greatness.
It was exactly why Jeong Jaemin and Jo Wonhyeong treated him with such an odd, almost reverent courtesy.
On the surface he sounded like a baby brother, yet beneath that tone they clearly respected him.
How, then, had she never noticed until now?
“Your skill is truly excellent, Unnie. But…” Namhun hesitated, “the selection of songs was poor. You couldn’t immerse yourself in the character of the lyrics.”
Han Taejin tilted his head.
She had felt something was wrong too.
“The character of Han Taeryeong the Orphan is inherently passive. Even when her beloved’s heart changes, she never argues, never fights back. She simply sits and cries.”
“I don’t know you well yet, but from the path you’ve walked so far, I think you’re the complete opposite of that character.”
Woo Yeonjeong let out a small, involuntary sigh.
‘That’s right. Every time I sang, the emotional connection kept failing because the lyrics didn’t match my personality at all.’
“The truth is, almost all traditional trot female characters share similar emotional stories. So singing a different song would probably give the same result.”
“What? How did you know that?”
“Exactly. When I listen to traditional trot, I sing well… but there’s something missing. Like the heart was scooped out.”
Jeong Jaemin’s eyes widened as he turned to the others.
“It’s true. Yeonjeong-unnie would never let anyone off easily.”
‘That’s why her problem was rhythm all along.’
The words landed like a quiet punch.
Having worked with her for nearly two years, they had all sensed it on some level.
“Maybe modern semi-trot would suit you better. Why cling so tightly to traditional trot when you’re so strong? Just drop the technical crutch and let yourself feel freely.”
Jeong Jaemin kept nodding along, though he had wanted to say something similar for a long time.
‘He really has that instinct. He’s been sharp since the old days.’
“Anyway, how about Taejin?” Namhun asked, steering the conversation.
“Taejin-hyung… is…”
Namhun paused, then spoke quietly.
“…beat-deaf.”
“What? You mean he can’t feel rhythm?”
“Yes…”
The room went dead silent.
The first to react was, of course, Han Taejin himself.
“What? I can’t feel rhythm? The guy who can’t even keep time is supposed to be the target?”
Taejin stepped forward, fists clenched, as if ready to swing.
Namhun, who had been about to explain, froze.
“Hyung? Don’t call me that. I just met you today. I have no intention of staying close to someone like you!”
Taejin threw the words at him like accusations.
“Listen, who here is better at trot than you? Who loves it more? I’ve sung and listened to trot my whole life, not some flying-rat creature like you!”
The sudden hostility made everyone’s faces tighten.
Flying-rat?
Yeonjeong and Bang-gun had also changed genres.
“Hey! Han Taejin, what the hell do you think you’re doing?!”
Jeong Jaemin roared, but when he saw Taejin’s trembling lip, he bit back.
Namhun had known this would happen.
Yeonjeong had gotten through safely, but the real explosion was still coming.
‘Ugh… explaining this is going to be long.’
He stayed quiet.
Taejin turned on his heel and stormed out.
Jeong Jaemin let out a long sigh.
“Youngjung-ah, go grab him.”
Bang-gun’s face darkened.
“Why does the boss have to clean up after his own mistake?”
“If the boss says it, the boss says it, you brat.”
Jeong Jaemin’s irritation was clear.
Bang-gun shot out the door without another word.
The air grew cold.
Yeonjeong murmured, “Taejin-oppa… you didn’t hate us all, did you?”
“…”
Namhun glanced at her, wondering if she was angry.
She simply began singing the exact lines in a mocking voice.
“Are you better at trot than me? Or do you love it more?”
Cook. So funny.
Yeonjeong tried to lighten the mood with a joke, but everyone felt the weight behind it.
“Sorry. It looks like Taejin needs a real medicine.
Jeong Jaemin lowered his head in apology.
Jo Wonhyeong clicked his tongue.
“Why didn’t we get that when we came?”
“You were the ones who wouldn’t give us the songs, idiot. We made a deal and you suddenly changed your mind. What a mess.”
Jo Wonhyeong just looked helpless.
“We were going to hold back on purpose, then give them the songs as a reward if they passed. Didn’t you see the twist?”
Namhun’s mind raced.
Had he been poisoned by Kang Seokho?
“I thought I was just helping the hyung set the mood and ended up ruining everything.”
Namhun could only sigh.
So both of them had been acting and failed to mesh.
“Well… there’s one person right here. Is it really okay to talk like this?”
Both answered at the same time.
“Yeonjeong-unnie is fine.”
“You don’t know her? She’s not scared of the CEO.”
“Exactly. I’m the one who’s always watching her eyes.”
Jeong Jaemin smirked.
Yeonjeong’s eyes flashed.
“What do you mean? Am I that scary?”
Namhun understood in one glance.
‘If Sera was here, Yeonjeong-unnie would be in real trouble.’
Jeong Jaemin easily pinned the struggling Yeonjeong and turned to Namhun.
“Is it really true that Taejin can’t feel rhythm?”
“No, it’s not the real thing. It’s nylon beat-deafness.”
“Nylon beat-deafness? What’s that?”
“It’s rare, so the explanation is a bit long…”
Namhun closed his eyes for a moment and continued.
“Traditional trot is almost always two-beat rhythm. Quong-jjak. Quong-jjak.”
“Right…”
Jeong Jaemin, who had once been a famous vocal trainer, understood instantly.
“So Taejin has been listening to only traditional trot since childhood. That means his brain is literally rewired for two beats at sixty to ninety bpm.”
“But traditional trot also has three-beat songs later on. Quong-jjak, quong-jjak, quong-jjjak, quong-jjak.”
“Four beats too. And when he accepts other genres, he starts hearing three-beat songs.”
“So when the bpm gets faster, his body starts fighting. He tries to force two beats subconsciously and ends up off-beat. It’s not that he can’t feel rhythm, he just can’t adapt.”
“I see. So it’s not total inability. It’s a breakdown in concentration.”
“Exactly. At one hundred and fifty bpm dance-trot songs, his mind collapses.”
Jeong Jaemin wiped the sweat from his forehead.
“If I had listened to night singers back then, I would’ve caused real trouble.”
“It could have caused trauma if he got hit with a bottle.”
Back when he was in Ga-yo Top 100, the staff would drink together at night after broadcasts.
He still remembered a drunk uncle throwing a bottle at a night singer who missed a note.
“Nylon beat-deafness. So that exists.”
“I’ve only trained pros, so I never saw this case.”
“I mostly train beginners, so I learned it here. It happens when someone prefers one genre.”
“I see… almost all the kids who came to me had hit a wall. That means they were already at a high level.”
“But rhythm theory isn’t the solution. The method is.”
“What is the method?”
“Simple. If it’s true beat-deafness, there’s nothing you can do. But it’s usually not that bad.”
“Not even pro drummers have rhythm issues.”
“The method is the same. Put on a metronome and practice until your body forgets how to be stubborn.”
Jeong Jaemin didn’t like the idea of forcing such harsh training on a fragile Taejin.
“You have another idea?”
“Train him on fast songs until he masters their two-beat feel. Like extreme four-beat or…”
“Tour-bus medleys?”
“Exactly. Medleys are how trot singers debut anyway. Make the beat super strong and he’ll adapt better.”
“Quong-jjak, quong-jjak. That’s the term for two-beat trot.”
“Start with fast songs, then mix in blue notes and other rhythms.”
Everyone in the room exhaled in admiration.
Namhun, who had been quietly watching, heard Jeong Jaemin chuckle.
“In the end, the saying is true: feed the picky ones a little of everything.”
Namhun suddenly thought of twin sisters.
‘Those two need their picky habits fixed too.’
Time was limited. Feeding them was harder than fixing the habit.
Just look at Yuyeon. One missing side dish and she pouts.
‘Turns out my nose is three feet long.’
He let out a tiny sigh.
“Now that I hear it, it makes sense.”
Back when he was preparing for idol debut, Namhun had learned every technique from Jeong Jaemin.
He had settled on the method that best preserved his current voice.
Jeong Jaemin had been a huge help in letting him step into the industry smoothly.
“He really grew up while I wasn’t looking.”
Namhun felt a warm pride.
Like a student who finally received his master’s recognition.
* * *
Bang-gun returned empty-handed after chasing Taejin.
While Jeong Jaemin and Jo Wonhyeong adjusted future schedules, Yeonjeong gave Namhun a guided tour of Onjeong Entertainment’s headquarters.
“The basement has dance and vocal practice rooms.”
“Why are the dance rooms so big?”
The space was as vast as any idol agency, with mirrors covering the entire front wall.
“Bang-gun-hyung insisted. Performance is everything for shows. He said they’d form a dance team.”
“Ah.”
Bang-gun, like Namhun and Jo Wonhyeong, came from a b-boy background.
He understood the weight of performance.
‘Dancing well could be a real differentiator.’
Was popularity just about singing well?
Vocal ability alone couldn’t compare trot singers to those in other genres.
But add performance and visuals and it changed everything.
Even in dance-trot, most were only rhythmic.
Bang-gun could take on veterans with raw vocal power by using performance.
‘Clovers must have been performance groups too. They had an instinctive feel for this kind of thing.’
Watching Bang-gun struggle to survive in the trot world suddenly made Namhun worry.
‘What should I offer as my advantage?’
He would have to find it soon.